Alpha roared and charged straight at her—
Ten Corrupted Spirits manifested directly in his path.
Suicidal blockers.
He tore through them with brute force, chains ripping, bodies shattering—but they bought something far more valuable than survival.
Seconds.
Seconds were enough.
The ritual circle reached critical mass. Energy surged, linking all twelve anchor points. At the center, the crack in reality widened—no longer thin, no longer subtle.
Now visible to everyone.
A gate.
Partially open.
And from beyond it—voices.
Hungry.Ancient.Wrong.
Kirana didn't hesitate.
"All units!" she barked. "Ignore the hybrid! Priority shift—stop the ritual! If this gate opens, everyone dies!"
The battlefield snapped into a new formation.
Spirit Tamers converged on the ritual circle, summoned spirits erecting layered barriers as white-gold holy energy slammed into the pillars anchoring the gate.
But the Masked One had anticipated this.
Cultists surged forward, forming a living wall of blood magic and Corrupted Spirits. Barrier after barrier rose—layered, reinforced, brutal.
At the front stood her personal guard.
Five senior cultists.
Each controlling multiple Corrupted Spirits.
The Tamers hit the wall.
Holy energy clashed violently with blood magic. Spirits and Corrupted Spirits collided in desperate melee, shrieks and prayers mixing into a single cacophony.
Tamers fell.
One was dragged screaming into a swarm of Corrupted Spirits.Another took a blood spear straight through the chest.The third was crushed beneath collapsing stone as an explosion ripped through the courtyard.
Tamer casualties: five total.
Cultists died as well—burned by holy light, overwhelmed by coordinated strikes, torn apart in the crossfire.
Bodies piled up.
Cultist casualties: ten total.
The ghost army was finished.
Only scattered remnants remained, fleeing blindly into the night.
Ghost army: eliminated or dispersed.
And Alpha—
Alpha fought like a demon incarnate.
Against cultists. Against Tamers. Against anything that came close.
Chains lashed everywhere, crushing, breaking, annihilating.
Until the Masked One turned her full attention on him.
"You've cost me enough already," she said coldly.
She raised one hand.
Fifty Corrupted Spirits—half her remaining force—descended on Alpha.
He fought. Destroyed dozens. But numbers told the truth.
Chains were bound. Limbs pinned. His massive form compressed under relentless pressure.
The Masked One approached, drawing a ceremonial dagger etched with glowing runes.
Blood magic.
"You should have stayed dead," she whispered.
She plunged the dagger into Alpha's core.
Alpha screamed.
A sound of pure agony that shattered windows and split stone. His form destabilized instantly, cracks spiderwebbing from the wound.
"WITCH… I'LL RETURN… I'LL—"
"No," she said quietly. "You won't."
She twisted the blade.
Alpha exploded into fragments of darkness—ripped apart, dispersed, gone.
Not destroyed forever.
But banished.
It would take centuries for him to reform.
The Masked One stood amid the wreckage, breathing slightly harder—but victorious.
Then she turned toward the Tamers.
"Your turn."
Kirana raised her hand sharply. "Stand down!"
Her squad stared at her in disbelief.
"Director's orders overridden," Kirana said grimly. "Priority one was the ritual. Everything else is secondary." She met the Masked One's gaze. "Temporary truce. We clear the ghosts. Then we settle this."
The Masked One considered.
Then nodded. "Acceptable."
The remaining ghosts were dispatched quickly. With both sides acting—not together, but in parallel—the remnants stood no chance.
Within minutes, the courtyard fell silent.
Only the crackle of fire and the groans of the wounded remained.
Kirana faced the Masked One again. "Now—"
The Masked One raised a hand. "Look around, Tamer. How many did you lose? Five? Six?"
Kirana's jaw tightened. "That's the cost of—"
"And I lost ten," the Masked One interrupted. "We're both depleted." She gestured to the ritual circle. "You want to fight now? Then everyone dies."
She paused.
"The circle is stable. The gate won't open further without the thirteenth anchor. You have time."
"Time for what?" Kirana asked.
"To decide whether stopping this is worth your life."
A standoff.
Kirana ran the numbers. Her squad was exhausted. Spirits drained. They might win—
—but only by losing everything.
"Withdraw," she ordered at last. "Regroup. Reinforcements in six hours."
The Tamers pulled back, carrying their dead and wounded with them.
The courtyard emptied.
Only cultists remained.
And Raven.
He stood at the edge of the battlefield, ash and blood coating his body—some his, most not. Red eyes watching everything in silence.
The Masked One approached him.
"You helped defend," she noted.
"Pragmatic choice."
She nodded. "Good. Pragmatism keeps you alive." She gestured toward the ritual circle. "You've seen our power. The Tamers' resolve. The chaos of the spiritual world."
Raven nodded slowly.
"Three days until the ritual," she continued. "But now they know. We accelerate. Tomorrow night." A pause. "The moon isn't perfect—but it's enough."
She extended her hand.
"Join us. Officially. Become the thirteenth anchor. Help us open the gate."
Raven looked at her hand.
Then at Azaelith's manifestation beside him.
She said nothing.
The choice was his.
He looked at the crack in reality.At the corpses scattered across the courtyard.At the power the Masked One wielded.
At a future where refusal meant being hunted forever.
Cold calculation.
"What happens after the gate opens?" he asked.
"Chaos," she said simply. "Then evolution. And you'll stand at the center—protected, empowered, transformed."
"And if I refuse?"
"Tamers kill you. Or we do. There is no third option."
Honest.Brutal.Familiar.
Raven took her hand.
"I accept."
Her grip was cold. Strong.
"Welcome to Lucifur, Raven Altair," she said. "Thirteenth Anchor. Herald of the new world."
She released him and turned toward the cathedral. "Rest. Heal. Tomorrow night—we change everything."
Cultists moved to clean the battlefield, reinforcing barriers, stabilizing the ritual circle.
Raven remained where he stood.
"You're sure about this?" Azaelith asked quietly.
"No," Raven admitted. "But survival demands commitment. Half-measures get you killed."
"This will change you. More than the contract already has."
"I know."
He stared at his hands. Demon Flame flickered unconsciously at his fingertips. His red eyes reflected in a pool of blood-stained water.
He was already changed.
Already a monster in the eyes of the world.
Might as well embrace it.
"Tomorrow night," he murmured. "The gate opens. And I become something… more."
"Or something less," Azaelith whispered.
"Maybe both."
The moon rose over the shattered cathedral. Blood soaked the stones. Smoke drifted into the night sky.
At the center of it all, the ritual circle pulsed with dark promise.
Thirteen points.
Twelve filled.
Tomorrow, the thirteenth would activate.
Tomorrow, the world would change.
Tomorrow—
Raven Altair would stop being human.